The Road Not Taken
by KroganVanguard
Summary: AU that explores Castle and Beckett's relationship if they hadn't missed their shot at the end of season 2, weaving in and out of canon. A Castle 2013/14 Winter Ficathon Entry.
1. A Deadly Game

**Now**

She awoke with a start. The bed beside her was cold, the room still dark save for the soft glow of the street light filtering in through the window as it reflected off of the steadily falling snow. She turned over, nestled in the sheets, a cocoon of warmth slowly leaching out. Her husband wasn't a morning person, so if he's up and out of the bed before her, it is usually for a very good reason. Most likely work.

She settles the internal debate by swinging her long, slim legs out of bed, quickly pulling on some sweat pants and an old, ratty sweatshirt of his that she'd appropriated some three months into their relationship. Or had it been earlier. She fancies it still smells like him, masculine and rich and oaky.

She can hear the tapping of the keys even before she reaches the gate of his study, guarded by his bookshelves. She's not being especially stealthy, so he looks up at her and smiles as soon as she lounges by the entry. The way his boyish blue eyes light up, the way his lips curl and crinkle- all of that never fails to make her heart beat a tick faster, warmth spread through her body. He will always have that power over her, and she knows she holds the same over him.

"What's up Castle? Nikki woke you up?" He saves and closes the laptop as she sashays towards him, and his lap looks ever so inviting and warm.

"Maybe." He breathes into her ear as she parks herself on top of him, nestling into the broad planes of his torso, his arms cradling her.

"That's supposed to be my job." She lets her fingers trail over the stubble accentuating his jawline, feeling her body stir and respond to his sheer physical presence.

"It isn't supposed to be work." His words wash over her, and bringing with them a sense of contentment she never wants to let go.

"But you know how I love my work. All aspects of it. I'm a total workaholic." Her lips find the attractively scratchy surface of his face almost of their own accord.

His eyes have grown darker, azure blue pools now, and she could stare into them for a long, long time indeed.

"No one can ever question your dedication, Detective."

Her hand stills, and she leans back slightly from his face, and something of her concerns must have showed on her face because he smiles warmly, to cheer her up.

"Oh Kate, are you still worrying about the interview?"

She nods, chin tilting down, and his eyes flicker with reassurance and strength for her to draw upon.

"You'll be fine; you're going to kill them out there." A beat. "Figuratively of course. Stack would be pissed if you got to Washington and…" He trails off once he sees she's not smiling along.

"But Castle, what will we do? I mean your mom and Alexis are both here and…" She can't quite stop the worry from creeping into her words.

"One step at a time. We'll figure it out, once it comes to that."

He shrugs, the muscles of arms and shoulders moving quite entrancingly under his t-shirt. But he is so matter-of-fact about it, about knowing they'll tackle it together and figure it out and it won't be an issue.

The tone, not the words, is what settles the butterflies in her stomach.

She leans into press her lips against his, grateful for his strength, for his love, for simply the fact he has always been there for her, through greater challenges than this. He accepts the kiss, her tongue delving into his mouth, knowing she is speaking to him without words, acknowledging the message and when his fingers curl around her neck in that way that never fails to shoot a bolt of pure heat through her, she knows they're moving past it.

She slides backwards reluctantly, onto her toes so she can keep kissing him as she pulls him up off the chair.

"Come join me in the shower, then I've got to finish packing while you make me breakfast?"

He nods his assent eagerly.

She can't think of many better ways to start the morning. And at least a bout of shower sex will help her burn off some of the nervous tension and relax her for later today.

* * *

**Then**

He's looking a little weary, a little downcast. It is not surprising. The blue eyes have lost their usual sparkle, and she hopes what she says next will make them gleam again.

"…I've had a really good time." She can't quite keep her voice from quavering, and the way he looks at her, simply looks at her, makes the chasm yawn in front of her feet.

"Yeah, me too."

She pauses a moment, in case he has anything more to say, but no he's done talking. He's talked her ear off over the last few days, and now it is her turn. The moment weighs down on her shoulders like a ton of bricks.

Oh well, now or never. She'll never accuse herself of cowardice again if she can follow through here.

"So, I'm just going to say this and…"

Castle quirks an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish.

"If that invitation to the Hamptons is still open," she pauses to take one last breath before diving off the cliff, "I'dliketosayyes."

The words rush out of her before she loses her nerve, clawing for freedom, for her to reciprocate his interest before he leaves her for good, before she misses her chance.

She can see the impact of them land, each one a tiny punch, rocking him back on his heels, before a beautiful smile unfurls on his face, the light returning to his eyes as she'd hoped it would.

"Seriously, Beckett?" There is a note of disbelief in his voice, but also of happiness, and she breathes out a sigh of relief, letting go of the fear that was clenching around her spine like ice.

But then he frowns, face darkening again.

"What about Demming?" The words are soft, but the tone is dark. She can't blame him for that.

"We, uhh, broke up." She meets his gaze, his eyes wary but hopeful.

"Oh?" A lilt to his voice, a thousand underlying questions to that muted query.

"It wasn't…what I wanted. He wasn't right."

His lips curl invitingly, and she just wants to run her fingers along his jawline, tilt that face down to they are pressed to her mouth.

But they have an audience.

"Go home Kate. Pack a bag. I'll meet you at your place in half-an-hour."

"This doesn't mean I want to leap into anything Castle." She wants to tamp down any expectations, both on his part and on hers. "Just two friends, going for a weekend away."

"You'll get your own guest room, Beckett, don't worry." He shrugs lazily, accepting any conditions she'll lay on him. "Strictly platonic."

Well, not strictly. She doesn't voice the thought. Not yet, not here. It is too soon.

* * *

She packs a swimsuit, of course. Montgomery forced a couple of extra days of leave on her beforehand, so she packs enough for just under a week.

They don't talk much on the drive up. He drives, for once, and she sits back and relaxes, unwinding and soaking in the sun till they arrive at his house. Well mansion really, and for the first time she feels a beat of hesitation about whether this is a good idea. Ever since she accepted his invitation at the precinct, she's sort of been running on an adrenalin high, but the huge looming reminder of his wealth sends skerrick of panic bolting through her.

He must've sensed her hesitation as they walk out towards his front door, because he turns to her, brushing her arms with his fingers, reassuring her with a touch.

"Sometimes I forget that you're rich, Castle."

"Well, not James Patterson rich, but I do OK." He shrugs, turns back to look at his place with a critical eye. "Honestly Beckett, the money…doesn't really change who you are. Just magnifies things. I'm still the same guy who thought up the theory with the ice bullets, and the one who ran into a burning building for you."

"Oh you're never going to let that go, are you?" She doesn't mind. She won't ever forget it, or the way he opened his home to her without a second thought, the way she started fitting in around his family. The way it all clicked into place all too naturally, all too fast.

He waggles his eyebrows at her, blue eyes dancing with a smile.

"Hey, it made me a hero in Jordan Shaw's books."

"Shut up and show me around, Castle."

The house really is magnificent, complete with pool and private beach. Her room is luxurious but she doesn't waste much time in going for a swim shortly after they unpack. The way his eyes grow large and dark with arousal is just an added bonus to the tension leaching out from her skin.

"Sure you don't need me to put sunscreen on you, Beckett?"

"I think I'll manage somehow."

He joins her in the water anyway, strong and muscular arms stroking him through the water alongside her. For the first time, she lets herself look, really look and doesn't even mind when he catches her looking, her eyes tracing out the contour of his biceps, the muscular thighs and calves that power him through the water.

Something electric arcs between them as his blue eyes spark against her green.

She takes herself out of the water and wraps a towel around her before she starts something stupid, too soon and too prone to burn out. She knows herself, and she knows him. They'll have to be careful.

* * *

She kisses him on the third day. It doesn't come out of any special situation, any magical moment. One moment they're walking along the beach, enjoying the sunset, and he's collecting seashells with an adorably child-like glee and the next he's sort of looming over her, hawklike eyes piercing her and pinning her in place.

The only way she can think to free herself, the only thing she wants to do more than keep gazing into those eyes is to taste his lips, the ones her eyes keep flicking over when she can't help herself, in the middle of ordinary conversations, as they drink wine and eat dinner and he tells her about writing his books and she tells him about working vice and they fall into an easy domestic pattern. She's never ever imagined it could be easy, it was always work with Will and thinking and figuring and making herself fit and with Castle the dance just comes naturally, it is like breathing air, and he makes her laugh and forget her job occasionally and no one, actually no one, has ever managed to do that.

So standing on that beach, the sun streaking yellows and pinks and oranges into the sky, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Pushing herself up onto her toes, curling her hands around his neck, fingers into his thick and dark hair as she pulls him down to her, his broad palms splaying against her back as he returns the embrace. He tastes like red wine and summer rain and dark chocolate- intoxicating, vivid and addictive. It could be seconds or it could be hours before they separate, she's not sure which, slightly breathless, his eyes darker and larger, lips fuller, face flushed. Fire runs through her veins, need licks at the base of her stomach, and she interlaces her fingers through his because she can't quite seem to stop touching him.

"Beckett." His voice is half-whisper, half-growl and all prayer. It is the most enticing sound in the world, and nothing can stop her from kissing him again thoroughly when it curls around her like a blanket.

They stumble back towards the house limbs entangled, stopping every few feet to make out like teenagers, his lips and teeth finding her ears, her neck, her shoulder, till she's reduced to incoherent gasps and more than slightly tempted to not even bother to make it to the bed.

Except she needs to be fair to him about this. About them. Regaining enough control to step away from his embrace on his back porch is hard enough, but the quick flicker of pain and rejection in his eyes is even worse.

"Castle…I want to do this. I do. But can we take it slow?"

"Ah sure. I'm going to need a cold shower now, but at any speed you want."

"No, not that part. I like that part. I want that part." She doesn't mean it to, but her voice drips with honey and arousal, huskier than she wanted. The way his nostrils flare and pupils dilate just ratchets up her desire in some kind of feedback loop. "I mean, not jump into anything. Take things too fast. Burn out. Rush into a definition. Tell everyone."

Words scatter from her before she can control them, spilling out too fast in an effort to make him understand. That she doesn't want to regret this, but to savour it.

He nods acceptance.

"Sure. Can I come to the precinct still?"

Her heart skips a beat at the thought of him not around, with his silly jokes and sillier theories, lightening the load on her shoulders.

"Yes, definitely. Just…try and act normal, if that's even possible for you."

She closes the distance between them as she speaks, till she's close enough to see the way his throat bobs as he sucks in air, can feel the heat off his body dragging her closer, and then she's draping her leg around his thigh, capturing his lips with hers again, till he bodily picks her up and presses her up against the doors.

She leans in to whisper against his ear.

"Take me to bed, Rick."

* * *

_OK, so this in my Castle 2013/14 Winter Ficathon Entry. First attempt at this, let's see how it goes. This fic obviously goes AU from the end of 2x24, and will attempt to wind its way through various key moments in the storyline since. Inspired partly by BerkieLynn's wonderful fic 'Another Life', which I urge you strongly to check out._

_The prompt I chose was of course Prompt 1: Your story begins with the following: "She awoke with a start. The bed beside her was cold, the room still dark save for the soft glow of the street light filtering in through the window as it reflected off of the steadily falling snow."_

_Reviews, of course, are wonderful and keep encouraging me to write so please leave one. _


	2. Knockdown

**Then**

Castle is somewhat surprised to see her at his door. She doesn't come to his loft during the day, trying to steer clear of Martha and Alexis. A futile effort, really. He's pretty sure his mother knows, and Alexis is just as sharp. He wants to tell his daughter, needs to be honest with her, but there is really nothing to tell. Since they've come back to from the Hamptons, he isn't really sure what they are. They spend time together at work, as they did before and then sometimes afterwards she texts him to leave before or after her, to meet her at a café or a restaurant or the movies. They kiss needily, hungrily, forcefully.

And yet.

And yet she holds herself away from, a little distant, a little stiff. Skirts away from his questions, from his open-ended anecdotes. She laughs though, and smiles. Small, shy smiles that spread a warmth through him that he hasn't felt in a long time. He's forgotten what it was like to be with someone like her. Smart, complicated, dynamic, beautiful and vivacious. Real. They steal into her apartment at night, and he sneaks out before it is light. He's not even sure what the place looks like, completely. He's so hungry, so hungry to know more, to explore every inch of her, both literally and figuratively.

He understands now why she asked for patience and for them to go slow back at the Hamptons a few months back. He can't pressure her, can't ask for too much, and can't startle her into flight. They have something real, but it is spun out of glass for the moment, gossamer thin and prone to cracking if either makes one wrong move.

So he doesn't. He just spends time with her at work, and out of work, and when he's not with her he spends time thinking about her and somehow, somehow he managed to channel some of that onto the page. When he's not lost in the memory of her bright green eyes, or the shine of her smile, or the waves of her curling across her pillow at night. How matter-of-factly she promised to break him out of jail if the need ever arose, not cognizant of his mother's words imparting weight to it. The way she absolutely would not look in his direction when they teased Esposito about knowing about Lanie, working hard to conceal their own secret, wondering if "everybody knew" about them too and how desperately she had to dance around Natalie Rhodes in order to not give away the game.

He's on his way to falling for her hard, and he doesn't know how to stop, and he doesn't want to stop. Like a skydiver out of a plane, he is in freefall now. She can be his parachute. But will she? He doesn't know, and he doesn't want to find out just yet.

She stands there in her jacket and her gloves, looking diffident. He doesn't know if he's ever seen her so unsure before.

"Hey, come on in?"

He keeps it bright, cheery.

"Can we talk?"

His stomach tenses. Is this the ground rushing up to meet him before he'd ever imagined?

"It's about my mom's murder." Words he hadn't anticipated. She steps inside, as she speaks, looking around to see if they're alone.

"Mother and Alexis are out. What's going on?"

"I just got a phone call from Detective John Raglan. He was the investigating officer on her case…"

* * *

Watching her face collapse in on itself when Montgomery sends her home is painful enough for him, he can't imagine what it might be like for her. Simmons had read them like a book in the interrogation room, pegging his feelings for her, and then slicing her open as deftly as a surgeon with a scalpel. She wasn't the intelligent detective with the deft touch he'd come to know, but the daughter still reeling from her mother's death, searching for answers, willing to do anything to get them like a bull in a china shop.

He had to do something. Both as a friend, as someone she trusted enough to bring to the meet with Raglan…and as whatever else he was. As he'd confessed to his mother, it was no longer about the books, about their work relationship. But he couldn't really pinpoint what exactly they were. Nonetheless, he knew that she needed support, and that he would be there for her come hell or high water.

That's how he finds himself an hour or so later standing in front of her door in daylight for the first time, flowers fresh and delicate in his hands, knuckles rapping against the wood. She opens the door, and her struggle is writ clearly across her features. She's trying, trying ever so hard to knit together a brave front for him, for the world, to hide away the jagged and broken pieces of herself. He wants to say something to stop her, to tell her that she doesn't need to do that, that he appreciates all of her, the broken and the jagged right alongside the beautiful and the brave. But that is thin ice, prone to cracking with one wrong step, and now is not the time, not with everything else she has going on.

Instead he hands her the flowers, ignores the tears converging at the edges of her eyes, stutters through somehow like a schoolboy who can't remember his words instead of a best-selling author and eagerly accepts her invitation inside. Her invitation to her apartment, and on some level, her invitation to herself.

Her apartment is beautiful and airy, light streaming in to land on an eclectic but warm collection of art and other curios decorating her space. He'd never got a sense of this space whenever he'd been here before, but then he'd never seen it daylight. It is rather like her, whole new facets to be discovered if you persevered, stuck around, if she deemed you worthy of being let in. Hidden beauty and hidden depths.

"Wow, nice to see the place in daylight."

She cracks a wan smile at his joke. It isn't much, but it is better than nothing. Enough so he can springboard onto the next part of his pitch. The one he spent the morning thinking up, the one he knows he'll have to convince her to let him come along on. He launches into an elaborate spiel about Dirty Harry and being kicked off the case, and he thinks he's making an impression when she bats backs the crack about plucky sidekicks (he'll settle for being that for now, if it means there is a promotion somewhere in the future). Eventually, she smiles gently at his elaborate plan to get her mother's file from the precinct.

"Come on Castle, I gotta show you something."

She leads him deeper, into the guest bedroom. He's never been there before. Another part of her house he's never seen, revealing another part of her he's never seen. The murderboard hidden in the window, uncovering the depths of her obsession, her need to find these particular answers. Her rabbit hole. The one he'd sent her down again, after all these years, by digging around when he had no right to.

"You know, I forget sometimes that you live with this every day."

There it is again, the broken and jagged pieces of her that she hides away, the scars on her psyche that she thinks make her less than whole. The parts of her that she has shied away from letting anyone see, from the opening up. The most sensitive, the most painful selection of her secrets.

And now she's showing him.

"When did you start?" Because surely this is new.

"Over the summer, while you stayed in the Hamptons to write. After I came back."

He understands, sort of. She couldn't tell him till she'd come to terms with it herself, till she'd sorted out her own feelings regarding re-opening the case, and the fact she was diving back into it. He wishes it was otherwise between them, but he understands.

They start nutting out the case, together.

* * *

The second time he raps on her door, it is with more purpose, with a file in his hand and a goal in mind. They're working together towards a solution now and that is a hell of a lot better than what they had the last time he was here.

She opens the door and ushers him inside more confidently this time.

"Castle, there's something I need to you to do." Her voice is curt, clear.

"Name it." He would do virtually anything for her if she asked, she has to know that.

"Go home."

Except that.

"Forget it. Fear does not exist in this dojo." He meets her eyes, green and focused and full of purposes, letting her know that pop-culture references or not, he is not going anywhere.

"Look, I signed up for this when I put on the badge. You didn't. This isn't your fight."

Her words are like stinging arrows. This is how little she thinks of him, even now? He will not stand for it, and lets his anger surface in his tone. Maybe he's been holding back a little too much because he doesn't want to scare her off. Maybe she doesn't understand that he is invested too.

"The hell it isn't! I don't hang around you just to annoy you, or get out to murder scenes out of morbid curiosity. You know it's more than that, you know that's why I didn't quit a long time ago. You know, because you came out the Hamptons with me last summer and showed me I wasn't alone in feeling this way."

"Is that why you keep showing up, Rick?" Her voice quavers, like she can't quite believe he would, like she doesn't really know how to handle that knowledge.

"Kate, I show up because I want to be here for you. I may not have a gun or a badge, unless you count that chocolate one Alexis gave me, but I'm here to support you in whatever way you need. If that's as your plucky sidekick, so be it." He infuses the words with all belief he can, imploring her to understand the message, knowing that it has to get past her automatic defence mechanisms.

He strides over to the couch and takes a seat, inviting himself this time. Not a liberty, but a demonstration that he feels comfortable in her space, that he accepts it and wants to work in it.

"Plucky sidekick always gets killed."

Her eyes are ever-so-slightly watery, and he understands now another part of her objection. The part of her that is holding him out, the part that can't reconcile itself with the idea of losing someone else who might become important to her. That defence mechanism kicking in again.

But it is no way to live a life, and if there's anything he intends to show her, it is that. To ensure that clenched fist of terror loosens from around her spine, so she can find happiness again. With someone else, if not with him (but please, with him), but beyond anything this woman deserves to be all that she can be not just the parts she lets out in public.

"Partner, then?" The word is loaded with meaning, obviously, but he uses it precisely for that reason. If she's willing to accept him here and now as her partner in this, for this particular case, then the door remains open for all the other meanings to come into play later. He needs her to take this one small step, to show him that she can let him in, that they can do this. Juggle all the aspects.

A hint of a smile dances over her lips, and some of the tension slides off her shoulders

"OK then, show me what you have?"

* * *

"How are Ryan and Esposito?"

Her fingers re-wind the bandage around his hands, skimming across his skin, strangely intimate in the ambulance despite the chaos and the circus around them.

"Oh, mild hypothermia, wounded pride." She smiles, the first one to reach her eyes in days. "Guess which one will heal first?"

He can't help but smile back as she pats down the bandage, and then sits back. They stare at each other in silence for a moment, an easy silence, and a companionable silence.

"Thank you." Her voice is soft but warm. "For having my back in there."

"Always."

And he means it. He will have her back for as long as she lets him, for as long as they're together, at work and otherwise. The pain in his hand mutes to a dull ache when she looks at him like that, with green pools of affection framed by the tawny mane of her hair.

She understands, because she stands up and leans over him, her lips swiping across his. At first quickly, and then she comes back for another taste. He places his hands gently at her hips, bringing her down to his lap.

"Montgomery?"

She laughs, a bubbling brook of a chuckle that does all sorts of funny things to his inside.

"I'm pretty sure he knows with the way you went all caveman on Lockwood there." She presses her lips to his temple. "I didn't know my boyfriend was such a badass."

He can't stop the broad beaming smile from breaking over his features, and he loves that she returns it in style.

"Come over for dinner with mother and Alexis tomorrow?"

"OK."

* * *

_I obviously won't be covering every episode from the AU perspective, that would be a Herculean endeavour. I wanted to mainly touch on the most pivotal ones. I think Castle and Beckett still would have to go through the same sort of struggles, but from inside the relationship. Don't know if that makes it harder or easier._

_Perspective will flip between them depending on the narrative demands._

_As always, reviews are very much appreciated and help me keep motivated. Do leave one._


	3. Knockout

"You OK?"

"Yeah."

Beckett lies. Either to him, or to herself, he's not quite sure which one it is. They're standing next to sleek black helicopter with the bullet holes in it, the bullet holes she put there herself, chasing down Lockwood in the courthouse.

Castle hates seeing her like this, struggling to maintain her control, to maintain her composure. They've come through some tough times since they put Lockwood away at first. She'd been there for him through the Damien Westlake affair, held his hand and not shied away from his own scars from childhood. Then the appearance of Fallon, the dirty bomb in New York. Half-frozen to death together, too many important things left unsaid between them. A victory hug that had turned into a victory kiss that had turned into victory sex when they'd left the precinct hand-in-hand. Quiet dinners at home with his family, weekends together either at his loft or up in the Hamptons.

Without quite knowing how, almost like it had sneaked up on them, they were in a serious relationship. And he was in love with her. With the way her face lit up in the morning when he brought her coffee, with the way her eyes sparkled with happiness when she lay draped over the top of him, with eclectic choices in date-night movies (_Valentine's Day_ the week after she dragged him out to the Angelica for _Forbidden Planet_) and the way she swayed in his arms when they went dancing after the Alex Conrad debacle.

Not to mention that trip to LA, where she'd sought comfort his arms and his lips on the couch and then in their bed. And once they'd brought down Royce's killer, she'd loosened up a little, enjoyed that couple's massage he'd booked just in case. He'd almost talked her into joining the mile-high club on the flight home, but she'd demurred at the last minute.

Ah well, maybe next time.

The spectre of this case had been hanging over them though, even as they tried to struggle past it. She'd never bring it up, never talk about her weekly pilgrimages to the jail to see Lockwood. The door to her guest bedroom stayed firmly shut, her makeshift murderboard all hers once again. He couldn't blame, didn't blame her for her sort of mad blinkers with this. He'd been the one to dig up her past after all, bring the case back into play and now she was doing only what was coming naturally, what she had to do. He was there for her as best he could be, as much as she'd let him be, but still walling herself off to some extent, still holding back from him. From them.

He knew he loved her. But did she feel the same way about him? That was the great unknown. And if she didn't, did he want to know? Would telling her too early just scare her off, scare her back into her old pattern that she'd mentioned, with one foot out the door, not quite knowing where she was standing.

He thought they might've made a breakthrough after they first caught Lockwood, after they went "official" (and boy does that sound pretty immature for a pair in their 30s and 40s). But it isn't as easy as that with her- with them- two steps forward, one step back. He acknowledges his own faults too, his paucity in opening up to her about his life, about his marriages, about his failures. He can't screw this up, because what if she looks inside him and doesn't like what she sees. That possibility terrifies him, freezes him into inaction.

On the other hand, he's yet to meet her father. She comes to dinner at the loft often now, spends the night more than a few times a month too. She quizzes Martha on theatre anecdotes and answers all of Alexis's varied queries about Stanford. She's spending time, and bonding with his family, but he hasn't even met hers. He's heard about Jim Beckett, and she's sketched out a few more details about her father and his recovery from his tailspin following her mother's death, but they have yet to be introduced.

Some small, needy, insecure part of him needles at him that is because she is ashamed of him, that she sees no future for them. What he is really afraid of is that sometimes he believes it.

* * *

His talk with his daughter settles him somewhat. Alexis is insightful and mature for her age, often an useful sounding board as he thinks problems through. Sometimes her feels that she is too mature, that she is growing up too fast, but today he is grateful that whatever her trials that she hasn't had to go through what Beckett went through, what forced her to grow up too quick and too hard, changing the entire trajectory of her life.

But the last person to see at his door was Jim Beckett himself, instantly recognisable from family photos and even just a couple of photos of her and her dad that Beckett has at her apartment. He's short and spare, but has quiet dignity to him, an unshakeable kind of solidity that speaks to his strength of character in recovering his life from his battle with addiction.

They settle across from each other, mugs of tea in hand.

"I feel like I know you already, Rick. Heard a lot about you from Katie."

"Really?" He can't quite keep the note of surprise out of his voice at that. He wondered what Jim had heard, what Beckett had told him, and what she'd held back. But now was probably not the right time to get into such questions. Maybe he wasn't as on the outer as he thought, though.

"Really."

Her father asks him how she's holding up, and he skates past the truth, that she's on a course for revenge or justice (the lines are getting pretty blurred for her, he thinks). Jim offers up a cute but telling anecdote about her past, about how she tackled her fears head-on. It resonates with him. In order to prove she is brave, she can be reckless.

He wonders if she realises she has a future to live for, to temper that bravery with reasonable caution. And what it says about her feelings for him if she doesn't.

"This man she's chasing, how dangerous is he?"

"He's a trained killer."

Jim looks away, shaken. He can see the cracks in that façade now, the same fear he's feeling reflected in the older man's eyes sitting across from him.

"What happens when she finds him?"

He's silent. The very question has been troubling him too.

"I've already lost my wife to this. I've already lost…" His voice cracks, quavers with the pain of that loss, and what came after it. Castle has to look away, can't bear to see the pain there. "I've already made my peace with it. But Katie? She won't listen to me. She won't back down. Not unless someone can convince her life is worth more than her mother's death."

He's silent, speechless. There are no words to reply to this, nothing adequate when his deepest fears are being articulated in front of him by the one person who knows her better than he does.

Jim stands up.

"She cares about you, Rick. And I know you care about her too, maybe even love her going by that look in your eyes. Don't let her throw her life away."

Even after he leaves, her father's words echo in his ears. He wrestles with them, trying to pin down at what point being there for her, supporting her as her partner and her boyfriend means trying to waive her off a path of self-destruction.

He knows with iron certainty that she'll be furious if he goes to her and tries to convince her to deviate from her single-minded pursuit. To just slacken off so she isn't in the crosshairs. It would probably spell the end for them as a couple.

It would be a price he would be willing to pay if he thought it would save her life. He would make that trade every day with no hesitation. He's just not sure it would be enough to dissuade her from this quest, this pursuit that has shaped every inch of her life.

* * *

Her anger is visible now, let of its leash and she snarls at them standing at the murderboard, daring them to defy her. She feels less like a persona and more like an elemental force of nature, rage and heat radiating off her, threatening to scorch anyone who comes too close. It would be sexy if it wasn't so self-destructive.

Those around her have clearly noticed. First the boys voice their concerns, and then Montgomery pulls him into the office from their records perusal for a chat. The talk leaves him shaken. Her family, her friends, her mentor- all of them are turning to him, asking him to intervene, to try and pull her out of her dive.

Ultimately, though, he feels the responsibility for himself. He has to intervene, to say something before she acts rashly out of her wrath, the massive blind spot that is this case leaving her blinkered as to the best course of action in favour of the quickest and most direct- and often most dangerous.

That's how he finds himself in front of her door that night, knuckles rapping in cadence. A very different feel to the last time he'd come here about her mother's case, angling to convince her to let him in. Now he needs to talk her into pulling out.

He's not sure he can. He's not sure they'll survive the conversation. But he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't try.

Once he walks in though, his courage fails him for a moment. She's got fire in her eyes and a gun in her hand, and doesn't that just underline the tightrope she's walking right now. So he tap dances around the issue for the moment, till she calls him out on it, in that strident Beckett manner he usually loves but loathes right now.

"Beckett, everyone associated with this case is dead. Everyone. First your mom and her colleagues, then Raglan, then McCallister. You know they're coming for you next."

She shrugs off his opening salvo, a practice nonchalance that serves as part of her armour.

"Captain Montgomery's got a protective detail on me. Wasn't that hard to spot."

"That's not going to be enough to stop Lockwood; you know that. Think about what they're up against. Professional killers? I-I've been working with you for three years; you know me. I'm the guy who says we can move that rubber tree plant. But you know what, Beckett? I don't think we're gonna win this."

She whirls on him angrily, not prepared to accept that kind of answer.

"Castle, they killed my mother. What do you want me to do here?"

He takes a deep breath. This is the moment he has steeled himself for. This is what he needs to tell her now, regardless of the consequences for them.

"Walk away. They're gonna kill you, Kate. And if you don't care about that, at least think about how that's going to affect the people that love you. You really want to put your dad through that? And what about-"

"And what about you, Rick?"

She cuts in, suddenly icy now, daring him to speak. Daring him to keep going. Giving him the rope to hanging himself, so she can cut herself loose and run off into battle alone.

"Well, of course I don't want anything to happen to you. I'm your boyfriend, I'm your partner." He injects steel into his own voice, matching her blow for blow. "I could be so much more, if you'd let me."

"Is that right?"

Something snaps in him at her taunting tone, at the way she's pushing his buttons, goading him. If she wants to hear the truth, then he'll tell her truth.

"Alright, you know what? I don't know where we're going. We're dating, and we never talk about the future. We nearly die frozen in each other's arms, but I didn't meet your dad till he showed up at my door last night. So, no, I got no clue what we are doing. I know I don't want to see you throw your life away."

He's not pulling his verbal blows now. Anger and guilt and love and protectiveness roil inside him like some giant storm, pulling him one way and another, imbuing his words with power, watching her features flinch from every strike they land.

"Yeah, well, last time I checked, it was my life, not your personal jungle gym. And for the past three years, I have been running around with the school's funniest kid, and it's not enough. Not enough for a relationship. Not enough for a partner."

Pain slices through him at those words. He doesn't know if she believes that, or is simply out to hurt him, lashing back at him for what he has said. Either way, they eat through his last reservations like acid. He'll lay all his cards on the table because now may well be the last chance he gets to.

"You know what? This isn't about your mother's case anymore. This is about you needing a place to hide. Because you've been chasing this thing so long, you're afraid to find out who you are without it."

"You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't."

"I know you crawled inside your mother's murder and didn't come out. I know you hide there, the same way you hide from our relationship, the same way you still have one foot out the door, the same way I don't know where I stand with you even though we've been together a year. You could be happy, Kate. You deserve to be happy. But you're afraid."

Silence descends over them, cold and clammy. He meets her eyes, flint matching flint. The rage is still there, as he knew it would be. He can't use logic to bring her out of this. Her blinkers are on, and nothing will penetrate them.

"You know what we are, Castle? We are over. Now get out." Her voice is low, but hard and brooks no further comeback.

He pauses at the door, and then looks back at her, braced against her desk, her back to him.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I don't…I don't know. I can't deal with this now."

* * *

She lets him give her a lift home from the hangar. He doesn't know where they stand, or what any of it means, and frankly with Montgomery's lifeless body staring up at them from that hangar floor, it all feels somewhat meaningless. He'd let her cry herself dry before calling Ryan and Esposito, let them co-ordinate the response.

She's dry-eyed and calmer by the time she gives a response, spinning out a plausible tale that does not reveal Montgomery's sins, one that her backs up without a look or word from her.

He finds her drifting to his side afterwards, shoulders brushing in close proximity. He knows that on some level she let him carry her out from that death-trap, she recognised it for what it was. That she chose to respect Montgomery's lifetime of heroic service trying to make up for his misdeeds, that he chose to make his last stand for her, and to not invalidate that choice by getting herself killed anyway.

But that doesn't mean she wouldn't be angry with him, enraged at his presumptuousness. Given then way they'd left things at her apartment, he expects it. Instead she seems…smaller. Drained. Drained of life, drained of energy. Her knees buckle slightly as they approach his car, and he throws an arm around her shoulder to hold her up. She leans into him momentarily, into his body heat and his bulk, before drawing away again and going to the passenger's side. It speaks volumes about her that she's willing to let him drive. Willing to cede control.

"I'm sorry."

She reaches out for his hand after they sit, threading her fingers through his momentarily.

"About what?" He looks over at her, face wan but determined, eyes locked on him.

"About our fight the other night. About how it ended. I don't want you out of my life, Rick. I need you in it. I know I said some terrible, awful things to you, and I would understand if…"

"It isn't that easy Kate."

"I know. I promise…we'll talk. About us." She takes a deep juddering breath. "Just…can it wait? Till after I square away what happened with Montgomery. What happened tonight? I'll have to tell his wife and daughters."

She pauses for a second, looks away into the night sky.

"I need you Castle, I need you at my side. As my partner. As my friend. In whatever way you want…"

His turn now to take her hand, cradle her cold and thin fingers in his broad palm.

"OK, Kate. I'm here for you. We'll sort out what we need to sort out later."

He takes her home, and puts her into bed, and when she asks him to stay and hold her, he does.

* * *

"And if you're very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you." Her eyes snap over to him as she speaks the words, and he understands, he understands the subtext pouring out of her, the meaning behind the gleam in her eyes.

They will make it through. They will.

His eyes turn back to the crowd, as she goes on, eyes catching on a flicker of light somewhere in the distance. At first he doesn't quite process it, doesn't quite get what is happening. Then he sees it again. Realisation comes crashing through him, and he moves with his first instinct. To get between her and the bullet. To ensure her safety.

"Kate!"

He dives.

Too late. Too slow. He sees her buckle under the impact just as he reaches her, eyes going wide with pain and shock as he bears her to the ground. In the background there are fuzzy noises, screaming, but it all fades. His universe collapses to the woman in front of him, her green eyes pale and looking up at him.

"Kate, stay with me."

Everything is a blur. The red blood on her white gloves. The crisp emerald of the grass behind her. The way she gasps for breath in his arms, eyes slowly clouding.

"Stay with me please, Kate. Please. Stay with me, OK?"

He begs, he pleads. He would do anything. Say anything. He can't lose her, not like this, not with everything between them still unsaid, their future together left unexplored.

"Kate, I love you. I love you."

She meets his eyes one last time, before her head lolls back in his arms, and her eyes flicker shut.

* * *

_A/N: Not that I want to just focus on Johanna Beckett case eps, but that is often where their most momentous relationship leaps occur. Next season I'll dip into at least one of the funnier, more light-hearted episodes. I also wanted to stick to the Marlowe tenet of not having them actually break up. I guess I skated right on the line in this one._

_Please leave a review if you liked it (or didn't). Your thoughts and criticisms keep me going. Thanks._


	4. Rise

It's nice to be finally out of the hospital, the sunlight dappling on her face, slight breeze rifling through her hair. Her body aches as usual, but for once she can lose the sight and smell of the hospital she's come to associate right alongside that pain, the doctors and nurses prodding and poking her and prescribing her drugs. Drowsing in and out of wakefulness, not quite sure what is a dream and what is a memory and what is her reality. He is always there, in all three of them. By her side at the hospital bed, by her side in her dreams, by her side in her memories. But she cannot distinguish between the latter sometimes. Did she dream that he told her he loved her, or did she remember it?

Not remembering seems like the best course of action, especially when those memories are generally following hard on the heels of searing pain, and just before blackness envelops her. Sometimes she wakes up at shaking from nightmares, tears running down her throat, gasping for air.

It's easier when he's there. When his broad palms encircle her thin arms, when his warmth cocoons her like a blanket. It's difficult in the hospital, and the visiting hours are limited, but somehow he sweet-talks the nurses into letting him stay from time-to-time.

Her father comes to visit too, of course, as do Lanie and the boys and Martha and Alexis. A small collection of flowers, enough to open her own florist soon resides her around her bed. She loves it. It relaxes her, the scent and the colours and the way it breaks up the white monotony of the prison-like cell.

Her doctor is a tall, handsome and overbearing fellow. Castle doesn't like him, for some reason, which makes her smile at the way he bristles when Dr Davidson comes around ("Call me Josh"). Truth be told, she's thankful she's in expert hands. Neutrally he relays how her surgery went, how close she came to actually dying, the way they'd fished the bullet out of her, stopped all the internal bleeding, sewn her up. After he'd gone, and she'd sent Castle away on some fool's errand, she'd hesitantly taken a look at her scars. The rough roundel right between her breasts, and long, jagged line along her side where they'd opened her up and sewn her back together.

She doesn't know what to feel about her scars. She doesn't know what to feel about anything.

She lets the sunlight soak into her, revelling in her recovery, in her escape. Castle fingers intertwine with hers, and she clutches him, leaning on him, using the strength he's lending her.

* * *

He drives them up to her dad's cabin after a brief stop at her apartment. She needs to get out of the city, out of the urban jungle where she's being hunted by assassins unknown. She knows he's been to the precinct, that he's keeping on top of the case as Espo and Ryan run down leads and chase the man who tried to kill her.

She doesn't ask.

She doesn't have the energy, or the courage to face up to that. She wants to hide, wants to run away and rebuild and heal. To put down her sword and shield, her gun and her badge, and rest her weary legs and soul awhile.

There is a small, stupid, self-destructive part of her that even wants to push him away, wants to curl up by herself, away from everything and everyone so she can heal by herself. But then she remembers how much better she sleeps with the feel of his skin on hers, how much better she feels when she wakes up in the morning and he's there. When he cracks a joke just to make her smile, and when she does even when she doesn't mean. The way her heart skips a beat when he enters the room, the way warmth spreads through her, from her toes to her face, when his eyes rest on her.

He doesn't really give her a chance anyway, when she mentions she wants to get away from the city, needs to get away from the city at the hospital. He organises everything, talks to her dad, grabs the keys – it' s like he can't bear for her to be away from his sight, and to be fair, she can't blame him and more importantly, she feels the same way when she listens to her better angels instead the self-destructive devil.

In the end, she can't picture going without him.

She doesn't know if she really heard him say that he loves her, but she's starting to believe that she might love him.

* * *

They settle into an easy rhythm at the cabin. She spends a lot of time sleeping, which is both frustrating and relaxing at the same time. Sometimes pain grips her body, racking her whole torso, leaving her unable to move. Other times she feels freer, more like her old self, going for a short walk through the woods to the nearby lake.

He cooks. He cleans. He's her hot water bottle and her crutch when she needs him. He brings her medicine when it is time, and drives her to her physio's appointment. He wakes her up and holds her when she has nightmares, soothing away the wrinkles on her forehead, the sweat slicking her skin.

Usually they make love slowly, gently, going by the pace her body sets, reaffirming that she's alive, that she made it. He needs it as much as she does, she can tell. She can't blame him, not the way he was crouched over her, the way he cradled her body with his.

Her dreams and memories have started to separate now, like oil and water. The memories are sharp, high-definition, bright colours and sounds and smell and texture. The dreams are hazier, softer, put through some kind of filter. Sometimes she dreams that he did catch the bullet instead of her, that he lay bleeding out in her arms. They are the worst nightmares, the ones where she wakes up grasping for him, to make sure he's real, that he's there, that there is no scar on his chest. The ones where she hurriedly pulls off his shirt and pants, demanding sex, demanding proof of life because nothing else can quite convince her.

He writes too, and calls Alexis and Martha. Puts her on the phone to Lanie and Espo and Ryan, not letting her off the hook. But he doesn't quibble after she only says a few words and then hangs up. He understands that she needs this space, this cocoon with just the two of them, their world apart from the real world.

He makes him scarce the first time her dad visits, but she asks him to stay the second. Her dad is a man of few words, so she knows how much it means when he pulls Castle into a hug, thanks him for looking after her. Tears glint fiercely in her eyes at the two of them, imagining them sitting side-by-side in the hospital, waiting for her to wake-up.

Eventually, after a couple of weeks, she packs him off back to New York to spend a few days with his mother and daughter, needing to reassert her independence to herself, to reassure her that her body is still her own, still strong. That while she might want him around for her convalescence, she doesn't need him. He calls every day while he's gone, sometimes twice a day, and her stomach flutters every time he does, and settles every time his deep voice sounds in her ear and soaks through her bones.

He makes her so happy, even now in the midst of her recovery. Even in the darkest of her days, his voice brings her the possibility of joy.

He loves her.

The memories are too sharp and too clear to deny now, and really, it isn't a huge shock to her. They've been walking down this road together for a while now, and he's been steadfastly at her side through thick and thin. More than she'd ever believed he would, more than she'd ever dreamt she'd deserve.

She lies back on her bed and fingers the scar on her chest through her shirt. It stings less every day. If it takes surviving a bullet that should've killed to force her to change, then so be it. He'd been right, that day, back at her apartment. She was hiding from their relationship. It was terrifying, the prospect that she might come to care for someone, to love someone so deeply. It would hurt so badly, rip her heart out if things didn't work out, and she couldn't hurt like that anymore. Or so she'd told herself all these years.

Except when it had come down to it, when her life hung in the balance, the thing she'd regretted the most was that they hadn't had their shot. They hadn't a chance to be everything they could be together, and part of that blame lay at her own feet. She has had one foot out the door. She didn't introduce him to her father. She left him trying to scale her walls without doing anything about breaking them down from the inside- or even wanting to break them down.

Something had to change, but she didn't know how. She wants that future for herself, but doesn't understand how to get there.

She wants him to come back.

* * *

Dr Burke is a tall, spare man with a sonorous voice and calm eyes. He sits across from her in his office, and his entire posture is an invitation to speak. The department has sent her to him for mandatory psych evaluation, and Castle drove them both down for her session. He's having a meeting at Black Pawn now.

Haltingly, looking more out of the window than at him, she tells Burke the story. The crisp, tight blues of her uniform. The quiet sobbing in the crowd from Montgomery's daughters when she walked up to speak. Castle standing next to her on the podium, quietly lending her his strength and support.

She isn't quite ready to tell him the whole truth, her sharp and clear memories, so she goes with the familiar lie, that she doesn't remember the rest, it is all blackness and pain and the next thing she remembers is waking up at the hospital. He murmurs understandingly and makes a notation in his pad.

He makes her talk for what feels like hours, till she stumbles out of the appointment and into the sunshine in a daze, all energy drained out, not quite sure which parts of the story she told were true and which parts were a lie, everything jumbled up in her head.

She wants to be back at the cabin. She's not ready for the city yet. Not with its bright lights and honking cars and seething mass of people. Not when a backfiring taxi wants to make her crouch under a café table, and leaves her hands shaking beyond her control.

And then suddenly, he's there. He's always there when she needs him. He sees her leaning against the wall of the therapist's building, gulping in air, and his hand is around her waist and she leans into him, his scent filling her nose, and the world steadies once again, no long tilting off its axis.

They escape back to the cabin together.

* * *

In the end, it isn't particularly momentous.

They're sitting out in the back porch, watching a luminous sunset, glorious streaks of pink and ochre and crimson piercing the sky. She's lying on her back, her head on his lap, his fingers idly stroking through her hair.

It's a moment of pure, perfect happiness, and she needs to share it with him.

She looks up, catching his eyes.

"I heard you. At the funeral."

His head stills, eyes clear and cool and a little wary.

"I'm sorry I lied, but for the first few days, I couldn't really deal with it. With everything. The shooting, you, the connection to my mom's case."

He doesn't say anything, but nods and curls the fingers of one hand into hers, squeezing tightly. She loves the way his large, strong hands wrap around her own.

"But I want you to know- I need you to know that I heard you. That it helped me over these last few weeks. And I d-"

"Shhh." He interrupted her, smiling, one finger over her lips, and then bent over himself partially while bringing her up from his lap till their lips brushed over each other in a gentle kiss.

"I love you Kate. And you don't need to say it now. Or say anything now. I'm just glad you're here, that we're here together."

She searched his eyes, brilliant dark azure pools, and found only honesty and love shining in them.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." She affirms her sentiments, trailing two fingers over his stubbly jawline, enjoying the warmth of his skin under her touch.

"Good."

And that's it. A load lifts off her shoulders and floats away, and suddenly she feels buoyant in a way she can't ever remember feeling before. Not that everything is perfect, or wonderful, or fixed because it isn't, but for the first time she thinks they might get there. She still has to explain to him about her walls, and how they'll have to work past it, and tackling her mother's murder, but they'll get there. Maybe later, once they're back in the city, sitting in his loft or maybe in a park somewhere normal and ordinary like on a swing set.

She feels better the next time she packs him off back to the city, not as anxious. This time he has specific instructions to spend some time at the precinct, help out the boys so when she gets back they can hit the ground running. He grudgingly acquiesces to her demands, but not before drawing a promise out of her that she'll look after herself, and call if she needs him. She promises.

They talk every day, and he spends at least one week in every month back at the cabin with her till she's ready to come back, till she feels she can trust her mind and body again, till she is ready to put on her sword and shield and go back out there hunting not just for her mother's killer but now for an adversary who has tried to take her life too.

* * *

Iron Gates riles her up the first day back, and it takes Castle all his contacts and resources to claw his way back to the precinct. They decide to keep their relationship from Gates for the moment at least, till she can get a read on her new captain and establish some sort of rapport there.

But it is frustrating, with no leads and nothing to go on, the boys having come up with dead ends everywhere, Gates herself refusing to do anything but go by the book. Even the idea Castle had of following the money leads to the fire captain and another dead end.

It is all too much…and then he's there, pulling her back, bringing her back to some sort of even keel. Letting her know that he's still there for her even if she feels everyone else has gone. That he won't go anywhere else, that he believes his place is by her side (much as she's coming to believe that hers is by his). He gives her just that fraction of a moment she needs to breathe, to clear her head, to gain clarity, and it's enough. It's more than enough. It's everything.

They're going to do this together. That's his promise to her, that's her promise to him. "This" is everything. Solve her mother's case, figure how to be in a relationship together, all the way in. Make it work.

* * *

She goes back to Dr Burke. This time she tells him the truth. It is not everything, but it is a first step.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, and leave a review with your thoughts- reviews help keep motivated and writing. I will be dealing with Mr. Smith and his phone call to Castle but in the next chapter, for anyone wondering._


	5. Cuffed

It's so hard to watch her struggle through the early part of her recovery. Not that he isn't there for her when she needs it- he is, of course. He would do anything for the woman he loves. But Castle also knows that Beckett needs for him stand aside at times, so she can work through some things on her own, find her own even keel within herself, independent of their relationship. At first the worst is the death spiral she almost spins into when she comes back chasing leads on her own shooting, on her mother's murder with a zealot's glint in her eye, till his heart pounds and sweat breaks out on his head that he might lose her again. So gently, he tugs her back, trying to get her to see past her blinkers, to see that there is more to her life.

To his surprise it works.

To his shame, he lies to her.

Smith's phone call comes right in the middle of her down-ward spiral when she's like an aircraft stalling in the middle of the storm. He knows if he goes to her with this now, it will make things worse, make it impossible for her to pull out of a crash.

So he lies.

It leaves him racked with guilt, robbing her of this choice. She once compared her mother's case like a drink to an alcoholic, and that's all the solace he has to hold onto for now, that though she might hate it he is in the end doing it for her own good. And that he will come clean, and wear the consequences as he must when he does. That he's doing this out of love, and she knows he loves her, has acknowledged that, and hopefully will remember and understand when he confesses.

That's all he can hope for really.

He sees her struggle through the first case, hands shaking and nerves unsteady. It scares him a little, because he's hardly ever seen her anything apart from cool, calm and collected. But she pulls herself together, leaning on him a little, but by herself all the same. And then they start working cases together, bit-by-bit, falling into old patterns like before.

It's hard to hide from Gates. He has to deliberately stop himself from sliding in next to her hip-to-hip when the lean on the desk and stare at the murderboard. From weaving his fingers through hers, from letting his thumb linger on her hand when handing her coffee, from resting the breadth of his palm against the small of her back. Even from mooning over like a lovesick calf, as Espo had put it when he'd caught him staring at Beckett from the break room. And he can tell she has her own struggles, from the way she'll reach out for his hand and then pull back all of a sudden, or drift closer and closer into his personal space till she's almost resting her head on his shoulder, and then catch herself and move away.

Somehow they make it work, though he's not sure they've fooled Gates at all.

They figure out the superhero case, and share a lazy, warm smile at the writer and the muse kissing in the precinct elevator, and indulge in a bit of that themselves later at home. She bristles with jealousy at Serena Kaye and he steps softly around her. For a split-second as they approach the hotel room he considers a kiss, but wisely opts for another option, distracting her with his phone till Beckett and Esposito swoop to make the arrest. She's still not pleased with him, but they make it through. For her the hardest case was the bank robbery. He could tell from the way she trembled and shook in his arms later that night, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes as she described her fright when the bomb blew. For days later she'd follow him around the precinct, not letting him out of her sight, as if to make sure he wasn't going to be kidnapped or held hostage the moment he ducked out of sight. She stayed at the loft every night for two weeks, which he loved. A trial run for a future he was allowing himself to envisage. After that Gates must've suspected the worst, splitting them up as he went with the boys to Atlantic City.

Then came the sniper case. He ached to reach out to her when she went home alone, eyes bloodshot, and came back the next day with a bandage around her arm and that wildness still around her features. He covered for her when she went to seek out Burke in the middle of the day, even though she didn't tell him where she went, because he knew and he understood. It took every single ounce of willpower he had to step back from her, to not bull in and ruin everything like he normally did, but to turn to one of her brothers at the precinct for help. If the bank robbery had been her personal hell, then that had been his. Everything was tied up inside her- her self-image as a cop, her search for a redemption that her dead mother couldn't give, her still-healing fear and pain and anger from her shooting. It was a knot she had to unravel for herself, for if he made one wrong misstep with it, he could ruin them forever. So he sat on his hands and waited. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.

But somehow she made it through. She turned a corner. He could see it, a load lifted off her shoulders, a smile dancing on her lips that he hadn't seen for some time. Eyes that were sometimes green, sometimes brown, but always looking at him with warmth and love and happiness.

The guilt eats away at him especially then. She's a lot better than she was a few months ago, she's found some kind of equilibrium that she didn't have then. But is it enough to handle what he needs to confess? He doesn't know. Everything hinges on that.

Then they get trapped with a tiger.

* * *

"Castle!"

He's too comfortable to wake up. Though his wrist feels strange.

"Don't get up yet, stay in bed." He mumbles back, refusing to open his eyes. Maybe Beckett will agree with him.

"Castle, get up!"

He wakes up groggily, blinking back the fogginess from his eyes. A strange tugging at his wrist makes him turn his face that way, and he notices that they're handcuffed together.

"Mmmm, kinky."

"Castle, focus. This isn't funny."

There's a snap and a bite to Beckett's voice that he rarely hears any more, and something far worse. An edge of fear. That wakes him up fast indeed.

"I didn't say funny, I said kinky." The reply is almost automatic as his eyes traverse the immediate environment, taking in the old and tatty mattress on the floor on which they're lying, the dark and forbidding space they're in, the utter lack of sound.

"This was much more fun the other night at your place." He mutters as he moves his hand to be closer to hers, so neither of them have to stretch or reach. He's rewarded by the faintest of smiles crossing her face, and the feral fear receding from her eyes.

His hand seeks hers out automatically as they get up, taking the small of crumb of comfort in the fact that they're together. They'll work together to get out.

They find their rhythm quickly, working out the dimensions of the room they're locked in, the trunk locked in with them. Opening that turns out to be not one of their finest decisions, confronted by knives and chains covered in blood and gore. Their grip on each other's hand tightens imperceptibly.

But she keeps believing in him, and he has faith in her and they keep searching for a solution, hoping that help is coming at the same time.

Confronting the tiger definitely turns into the low point of the day, till Esposito and Ryan and even Gates come through and save their behinds one from hungry big cat and catch the Texan family of criminals in the process. Yet another close swipe from death's claws, this time quite literally, leaves him shaking and jittery in the car on the way back to the precinct. She pulls over, and runs her hand across his brow, wiping of the thin sheen of sweat that still covers it.

"You OK?" Her voice lilts with concern, and he takes her hand from his forehead, and kisses the inside of her wrist.

"Just…you know, still shaken up."

That's when he decides that it's time to come clean. Just sitting there on the side of the road with her, falling in love again for the thousandth time (or more). She needs to know the truth, needs to be able to trust him, and they need a stable foundation built on that trust so they can build a life together. A future together.

He needs to stop lying, and she needs to know. It's time.

"Let's head back to the precinct and wrap everything up." His voice trembles a bit, and she gives his hand another squeeze before they head off again.

He'll tackle it tonight.

* * *

He knocks on her door, knowing she probably wouldn't be expecting him tonight. Indeed, there's a look of confusion on her face as she lets him in.

"Thought we might take the night off from each other? What all day handcuffed to me wasn't enough?" She teases him lightly, and he forces a smile onto his face in return. He wants to spend every day and every night with her, but before they can even think of going down that route, he needs to be honest with her.

She knows him though, knows him well, and she can tell immediately something's wrong.

"Hey, you OK? Still feeling the shock from what happened today?"

"No, no it's not that." He waves her off, and then girds himself. She deserves to know. She's given him nothing but love and respect and honesty, and that is the least he can offer her in turn.

"I have something to tell you." There is a serious edge to his voice, one he can't quite help, and quietly she sits back on her couch, her pose unconsciously defensive, eyes wide.

"A couple of months ago, just before you came back to work, I got a phone call from a guy who called himself Smith…"

He lays out the details of the case in quick, spare sentences, leaving out the authorial flourishes and embellishments, sticking to the raw facts.

She absorbs it silently, features neutral but eyes clinical, hazel but dark. Her shoulders draw in, tighten against the betrayal she must be feeling as he comes to end of his tale. He wants to go over and embrace, and knows that's the last thing she wants right now.

"Just tell me one thing. Why?"

"Because when you came back to work, you were out of control Kate. You know that. When Smith called, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so badly. But you had no leads, and you were hellbent on find someone guilty. Anyone, really."

He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words.

"I couldn't risk your life. I'd just seen you die in my arms, and come back to life. I couldn't risk that you might go off like a rampaging tornado, only to be shot again. I'd rather sacrifice myself first."

"It's my life Rick. My choice." Her words are cool. She's angry but she's not lost control, not yet. It gives him a little hope that maybe they can navigate this, but only if he can get her to see his reasoning.

"Is it? I mean it is, of course. But I thought we were building something Kate. Together. And giving you this information when I first got it would've been like you offering your dad a drink on first anniversary of your mom's death."

That one hits home, hard. She takes a step back, almost as if he's physically struck her, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

He hates himself, but it might be the only way to make her understand, make her see why he had lied to her, had kept this from her.

"I think I need some space."

"Kate…"

"I'll come see you tomorrow. But I need tonight."

He leaves, fists deep in pockets, stride dejected, eyes only fixed on the pavement in front of him.

* * *

Tomorrow comes slowly.

He's going out of his mind. He's tried everything to distract himself, from writing to playing video games to sleeping. Nothing has worked.

So when there is sharp rap on the door, it is equal parts trepidation and relief that flow through him. He opens it and lets her in, her eyes cool and dark. They're alone tonight, his mother out with some of the theatrical friends, but she strides straight for his study nonetheless. He trails in behind her.

"Show me." Her tone is iron and ice, not to be compromised with.

"What?"

"Show me what you have on my shooting, and whatever else…"

"Kate-"

"Castle, I understand. I'm still angry, but I understand." Her voice softens from the steely timbre it had earlier, and her eyes lighten ever so slightly. "You were right. I wasn't in any place to hear what you had to say earlier. But I'm here now, and I need to know everything."

He quickly reaches over to the remote, switching on the screen to show the partial murderboard he has sketched out.

"But Castle, this has to stop here. You can't do this without me, not any more. You could get hurt, or worse, and…" She trails off, genuine fear and anguish in her features and tone at the thought, and he moves instantly, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace. She nestles into his torso, seeking comfort.

She understood, and implicitly, she forgave. Because she loves him, in the end, just as much as he loves her, and he never wants to lose that. Doesn't want to imagine his life without her. He can't any more, and he needs to show her that. Not just with his words, but with his actions- because as much as she loves his words, she works by gestures and symbols. He'll speak her language to her. He'll give her his spare key tonight.

And maybe start looking for rings. Not for right now, but when the time comes, as it inevitably will, he'll be prepared.

* * *

_A/N: Apologies for the delay. I struggled a lot with this chapter, and ultimately I'm still not happy with it. But better done than perfect, at any rate. Please leave a note with your thoughts. We're in sight of the finish line now of this AU, only a couple more chapters to go._


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